When Was the Last Time YOU Cooked Without Swearing?
by Soter-chan
Summary: Arthur has joined a cooking class expecting to learn new skills and great recipes to cook at home. However, he is now stuck with a snobby French, an annoying American, two loud Germans, and many more! This is what would happen if the Hetalia characters were all smashed into one culinary class. (title is a quote from the ever so amazing Hannah Hart)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is a humorous culinary AU for Hetalia. I'm planning for there to be no ships. I do not own any of these characters expect for the teacher. Enjoy!**

* * *

Arthur's foot-steps echoed through the empty hallway. The building was all white and smelled of a mixture of spices. He approached a door, behind it a sound of loud voices and pots and pans banging. Carefully, he opened the door and peaked his head through.

"Ah!" A rather large Indian man in a chef's uniform bellowed. "I thought you would never show! Artie!"

"Arthur..." He mumbled and stepped inside the large kitchen.

"Grab a jacket and hat, then go to an empty station," The man pointed him over to a wall with just one chef's jacket hanging on the many hooks.

The class went silent with just a few whispers here and there. All their eyes followed him as Arthur pulled the large clothing over him and shoved the hat on his small head. He walked over to an empty spot in the back next to a tall man with long blonde hair.

"This is a cooking class, right?" Arthur whispered.

"Oui," The man winked. "But this is for people who want to pursue a career in the _fine_ art of culinary," His French accent was thick but his voice remained to have a sing-songy tune. "I'm Francis. And you are...?"

"Arthur," He replied.

"British, are we?" Francis smiled noting his now noticeable British accent. "Not the type of person I expected to see here..."

"Excuse me?" Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Oh," He laughed. "Nothing!"

The class started off simple with the man from before introducing himself as Mr. Maahir. Mr. Maahir explained that they would be starting off with basics such as sautéing, searing and then would move on to the harder things over time. Once they would get through learning the needed skills, the class would cook recipes from all over the world, experimenting with different ingredients and flavor mixtures.

After going over the syllabus, Mr. Maahir instructed everyone to chop the onions and tomatoes that rested on their tables. Arthur pulled out a large knife from the wood storage block and began chopping his onion. He couldn't help but notice the French man laughing under his breath. Arthur decided to ignore it and continued cutting until a loud voice interrupted the rhythm of knives hitting cutting boards.

"ANTONIO!" Mr. Maahir yelled at one of the students. "The tomatoes are not for eating!"

"Oh! Lo siento, señor!" The student apologized through a mouth full of tomatoes. "They just seemed so ripe and delicioso, I couldn't resist!"

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Here," Mr. Maahir pulled another tomato from the fridge and handed it to Antonio. "Cut this one." Then, the man's head turned to Arthur. "You're using the wrong knife."

Francis' laughter turned into a roar as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Are you sure you signed up for the right class?"

Arthur blushed with embarrassment. "Shut up, you wanker..." He muttered and switched to a smaller knife.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur's green eyes watched over the Spaniard's movements carefully. He was amazed by how graceful Antonio looked while cooking. The way Antonio moved made him seem as if he was dancing. His hips would sway to a beat only he could hear, and whatever song that was it was a good one. Antonio had a passion for what he was doing, and he used that passion well.

No, Arthur was not admiring the sexy tomato-lover from afar like a little school girl with a crush. Antonio had yet again eaten what he was supposed to cook (this has happened four times), so Mr. Maahir made him cook a meal for him and the class while they watched. Arthur wasn't quite sure of what it was but he knew it was going to taste fantastic.

"Done!" Antonio smiled broadly as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "Here you go," He then handed a plate to Mr. Maahir.

The class grew silent as they watched the teacher slowly pick up his fork. Someone gasped when he took the first bite. Mr. Maahir's expression was normal, but he took another bite and waved to the class to take some.

"What is it?" Arthur asked as he took a small plate.

"Paella!" The chef smiled. "It's a mixture of rice and chicken with some surprises of seafood!" Antonio then sighed. "Although, I wish I could have added more seafood, it's lacking the amount I usually put in."

Arthur shrugged and took his first bite. Him, along with others, had this collective moment of delight. The spices were strong, but also blended nicely giving each one it's own chance to shine. Some were spicy, others were tangy, and there probably was some that were sweet. Arthur savored it as much as he could, making each fork full count.

* * *

"You're doing that wrong," A French voice sung.

"Will you be quiet you cheese lover," Arthur replied back while dicing an onion.

"Artie!" Mr. Maahir stood in between Arthur and Francis.

"Arthur," He corrected him.

"Arthur..." The teacher sighed. "Is that anyway to talk to a classmate who was helping you? Your dicing is far too large."

* * *

"You're doing that wrong," Francis smiled.

"No I'm not," Arthur sighed.

"Artie! You're burning the sauce!" Mr. Maahir ran over.

* * *

"You're doing that wrong."

"No."

"And that."

"Nope."

"You can't cook can you?" Francis crossed his arms.

"Artie!" Mr. Maahir grabbed the spices from Arthur's hands. "I said a pinch! Not a handful!"

"Arthur," The British "cook" rubbed his forehead. "And I'm sorry."

* * *

"You're doing that wrong." That is all poor Arthur could hear. The dreadful words spun around in his head and flashed in his eyelids. Nothing he did was right. Every move turned out to be a mistake. Each and every dish was burned, too seasoned, or no seasoning at all. He tried following the directions word by word, but something always ruined it. What could he do?

He looked out the window of his bedroom. The sky was dark with rain pouring down against the glass. Arthur gazed out across the city's skyline which could be only seen due to the bright lights. His small crappy flat, despite all its flaws, had a great view of London. His dream was never to become a great chef or work for a Michelin-starred restaurant. His dream was to live his life here, and to be apart of the busy city. Becoming a chef seemed like a good outlet, even if it was working for a small tea house. This is what kept him going.


End file.
